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A study by Swiss researchers earlier this year revealed what, at first glance, appears to be an astounding phenomenon: Altruistic robots.

Without attempting to explain the scientific research involved, let it suffice to say that roboticists at the Ecole Polytechnique Federale de Lausanne devised an experiment whereby virtual robots programmed to "reproduce" demonstrated a willingness to "share" with other robots in proportion to the amount of simulated genetic coding they had in common. By doing so, they provided compelling evidence to support what is known as Hamilton's rule of kin selection  the theory that animals will take risks and make sacrifices for other animals if they feel sufficiently "connected."

Selflessness, it would seem, resides not only in humans but also in animals. What's more, even artificial life, and even virtual life, may possess the divine quality of altruism.

On the other hand, there are those who insist that altruism is neither selfless nor divine; indeed, some assert vehemently that there is no such thing as altruism whatsoever. Almost exclusively, these are the same skeptics and cynics who dismiss belief in an Almighty Creator as no more rational than belief in the Tooth Fairy.

For all their skepticism, however, cynics such as these worship at the altar of evolutionary hypothesis with perfect faith, despite the many unresolved problems that evolutionists fervently wish would go away. Consistent with their naturalistic vision of the universe, they offer four explanations for inherently selfishness behavior that, in their minds, masquerades as altruism:

The first is neurochemical reward, a hard-wired physiological response that produces a good feeling in reaction to a good deed the way chocolate ice cream produces pleasure the moment it hits the tongue. Similar to this is the psychological reward that comes from any action that confirms one's belief that he is a "good person" for having acted in conformity to society's established values of good behavior.

Then there is the social reward of being seen as a person of quality, thereby gaining favor and recognition in the eyes of one's fellows. Finally, there is the sense of power over others that comes either from acquiring an implied debt of reciprocity or simply from the feeling that one has been needed.

If the cynics are right, there is no such thing as human nobility. Indeed, there is no such thing as free will, since all choices are governed by an individual's singular biochemical composition. Essentially, we are all organic robots. Any belief in the Godly nature of man is simple self-delusion.

STRANGE BEDFELLOWS
However, it is not merely the worshippers of biochemical atheism who have adopted this view. If American folklore can be trusted, none other than Abraham Lincoln himself saw the world in this way.

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The story goes that Mr. Lincoln once glanced through the window of his carriage to catch sight of a piglet wallowing helplessly in the mire. He called to the driver to stop, then waded out into the mud to extricate the unfortunate animal. When asked why he had put himself to such inconvenience for a pig, Mr. Lincoln answered that, had he not acted, he "should have had no peace of mind all day."

In other words, all appearances to the contrary, altruism may be nothing more than convoluted selfishness.

Ironically, it is the community of secular philosophers who argue to the contrary. In 1726, Joseph Butler presented an argument in defense of altruism that remains perhaps the most compelling in modern philosophy. Although a vicar (and, subsequently, a bishop) of the Anglican Church, Butler's reasoning gained the acceptance of the larger community of secular ethicists. He argues as follows:

No one is motivated solely by self-interest. Most decisions, whether great or small, involve a complex array of competing wants and needs. A soldier may go to war because he recognizes the need to defend his country or the obligation to fight for a cause; he may seek revenge against injustice, the adrenaline rush of the battlefield, or the sense of power that comes from shedding blood; he might go to war in spite of a deep-seated conviction that violence is immoral or despite conflicting loyalties between his home and his homeland. More often than not, a soldier may be motivated by any number of these in any conceivable combination.

But whatever spirits move him, the soldier may well make his choice based neither upon personal desire nor upon personal self-interest. Rather, after evaluating all his reasons and motivations, he chooses what he believes to be right.

IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF HEROES
Even though the pedestrian choices we make in daily life may superficially appear to derive from some kind of self-interest, exceptional examples prove that a more profound element must be involved. When Pastor Martin Niemoller spoke out against the atrocities of the Nazi party, it was hardly self-interest that motivated him to subject himself to the tortures of Sachenhausen and Dachau. When Senator John McCain refused to make any deal with the Viet Cong to attain early release, it was hardly because his self-interest compelled him to remain in the Hanoi Hilton. And Abraham Lincoln sold himself short when he disavowed his romp in the muck as a refined form of selfishness.

The fallacy of the cynics and skeptics (and of Mr. Lincoln, who deserves no such appellation), comes from their failure to question why the human brain is designed to take pleasure in being "good" even when such intangible benefit comes at disproportionate cost. Granted that communal animals (and, seemingly, even robots) enjoy some evolutionary benefit from cooperation, the range of human decision-making extends to such a variegated assortment of circumstances that simple self-interest cannot possibly apply to all of them.

The difference is simple. It is what makes human beings different from animals, what stirs us to engage in abstract thought, to contemplate the purpose of our existence, and to devote our efforts and energies toward impractical ideals. It is what allows us to aspire to lofty goals at the expense of personal advantage.

It is the part of us that is divine; it is the part we call the soul.
Is it possible that any given act of apparent altruism is, in fact, motivated by selfishness? Of course, it's possible. And it may be often true. But it is undeniable that we within each of us resides the potential to make choices that bring us acute disadvantage, not out of greed or vengeance or lust, but because of duty, honor, and justice. And even when we act against personal self-interest to benefit those close to us, we do so not necessarily because of some evolutionary survival instinct, but from a deep-rooted connection that convinces us that our well-being depends upon the well-being of others.

Human nobility comes not from genetic programming but from our awareness that each of us is inseparable from every one of the myriad souls with whom we share our world. This the ultimate source of all genuine altruism; this is what we call love.
And who knows? Despite what the cynics say, maybe this is something even a robot can understand.

JWR contributor Rabbi Yonason Goldson teaches at Block Yeshiva High School in St. Louis, MO, where he also writes and lectures. He is author of Dawn to Destiny: Exploring Jewish History and its Hidden Wisdom, an overview of Jewish philosophy and history from Creation through the compilation of the Talmud, now available from Judaica Press. Visit him at http://torahideals.com .